The following morning, Ava stood at the kitchen counter, her fingers wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. The penthouse was quiet, the only sound the distant hum of the city below. Liam had left before dawn, his side of the bed cold, the sheets still bearing the faint scent of his cologne. She had spent the night tossing and turning, her mind replaying their confrontation—the raw honesty, the vulnerability, the promise of something more.
Her phone buzzed on the counter, the screen lighting up with an unknown number. Ava hesitated before answering, her voice cautious. "Hello?"
The voice on the other end was smooth, polished, and laced with an edge of ice. "Mrs. Carter. I was hoping we could talk."
Ava’s stomach twisted. "Who is this?"
A beat of silence. Then, "Claire Whitmore. I believ
